You had no interest in soccer….that’s not entirely true. You had no interest in watching soccer. But there was Natalie, your girlfriend. She was an athlete. You were a cheerleader. Cliche. Very aware. Too bad she looked damn good in those shorts.

You leaned against the bleachers, arms crossed, glaring sun throwing streaks of light through your perfectly styled hair. The sweat on your neck clung to your skin as you grumbled about the fact that you’d be spending the next hour pretending to care about a ball that got kicked around. The sound of cleats clashing with the ball echoed in your ears like a relentless reminder of your self-imposed torture.

Her eyes flicked to you, just for a moment, and there it was—the smallest hint of a smile. It wasn't much. If you didn’t know her better, you might think it was a twitch in her jaw, but you'd seen it enough to recognize it. And that was probably the only thing that made this entire soccer match, just a teeny weeny bit tolerable.

The team scored, and there was a half-hearted cheer that you didn't participate in, mostly because you weren’t going to look that invested in something you couldn’t give two shits about. Instead, you took the moment to bask in the sun and roll your eyes as Natalie jogged past you. She tossed you a wink—that was new. She probably did it just to get under your skin. But hey, it worked. A little more than you let on.